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I went to the doctor today. We did not do my annual female check up like I expected. However, based on the number of appointments I anticipate over the next few weeks, I’m sure she’ll have plenty of opportunity for that, too.

My doctor is a tough, no-nonsense Indian woman whose marriage was arranged, who has two school age sons, and who practices with her husband. She doesn’t spend time being diplomatic and she says exactly what she thinks. She often greets me by saying, “I see you still have 40 pounds to lose. What are you doing about this? How are you eating?” etc. And then we move into more sensitive topics, all of which she approaches with the same full steam ahead bracing fashion.

The visit was due to recent (negative) health changes: http://thread-walker.livejournal.com/27549.html

For more rambling and the eventual whining jag:

I really like her. I know she’s being honest with me and she isn’t afraid of tackling stuff or saying the hard stuff. I didn't know how to answer her blunt questions: Are you stressed? Are you depressed? and those sorts of questions.

My brain froze up in fear that she'd tell me to quit one of my beloved projects or tasks. So I told her I wasn't sure I could actually analyze myself honestly. (true!) I have moments of being overwhelmed and moments of stress, but I don't think of myself as being in a state of depression. (I didn't comment further on my state of stress ...)

So I sort of waggled my fingers and did my impression of "this is not the stressed or depressed patient you're looking for" routine. If we exhaust all the real medical sources for the sudden and instant exhaustion I get in the afternoon, we can always come back to this. By which time Spring Collegium should be done and Fall Collegium well on its way. yes, I recognize that I'm stalling, but I'm really good at compartmentalizing this sort of stuff and ignoring it.

After the exam/interview she gave me a list of things that are henceforth removed from my diet and she sent me off for blood work. We’re checking glucose and thyroid, among other things. Too bad the phlebotomist couldn’t get my vein on the first couple of tries. Ouch!

Officially removed from my diet (for now, at least) are stuff I love: potatos, white bread, white rice, pasta, all sweets, all chips, etc. In addition, she said carbs were to be reduced overall, so certain substitutions are okay, but she was vague about portion sizes. So wild rice is okay, but I'm guessing a meal of wild rice is probably not okay. And since I read some Weight Watchers literature a few years ago, I have had my eyes opened to what a portion is supposed to look like and it's usually smaller than what I or any restaurant would serve.

Since I'm someone that likes fresh vegetables and meats, I'll live, but I will miss French Bread, red wine and sweets. I have a lemon gelato in my fridge ready to go through the ice-cream maker, so it looks like I'll be doing this for the pleasure of everyone else.

My consolation is that I still have cheese.

Sigh. I will have to strategize when we go out. Maybe I can get in the habit of ordering antipastos and cheeses when everyone else is eating desserts. I know that some pasta places will serve their sauce and meats over al dente vegetables instead of pasta, so I'm not completely stuck. No, I won't shrivel up and blow away and I know some people who have to eat this way in order to hold back diabetes. But I'm giving up things that trigger a sense of pleasure that's almost physical and right now with all that damn stress I'm juggling, there isn't a lot of easy feel-good stuff I can turn to without burning up chunks of time. Food has been my haven. Until now.

I know I'm just whine, whine, whine. I'll get over it. But right now all I can think about is the food I’m not allowed to have, which means that what I’m craving this instance is food I'm not allowed to have. Like the super, duper brownies at the coffee shop across the street … or the brie and pesto sandwich at the coffee shop across the street ... or the kit-kat in the vending machine in the building next door ...

Feh! whine, whine, whine. pout, pout, pout. I just need to lump it and get over it.
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